


Loneliness as Cold as Ice

by EmynIthilien



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmynIthilien/pseuds/EmynIthilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon felt colder than before, if that was even possible.  He supposed it wasn’t just the ice towering above him that made him feel that way, but the loneliness that pierced through his furs surer than any biting wind.  Written for the prompt: “Stannis/Jon, scars.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loneliness as Cold as Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Comment Fic Meme #5](http://gotexchange-mod.livejournal.com/1855.html?thread=717631) at [got_exchange](http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/) on Livejournal for the prompt: "Stannis/Jon, scars."

Upon his return to the Wall, King Stannis Baratheon hadn’t cared about how Jon had survived his attempted assassination, about Melisandre’s growing distress, or about how the ravens brought news more dire by the day. He had a kingdom to defend, and most other matters didn’t deserve his time and worry.

The Wall didn’t have as many men as Jon would have liked. _And it never will_ , Jon caught himself thinking as the sun began to set earlier and earlier and the full moon soon became a sight few remembered seeing. Despite this, at least the men of the Night’s Watch, the wildlings, and Stannis’ soldiers were well disciplined and rarely questioned a word that either their Lord Commander or their king said. Rising from the dead and vanquishing enemies in the dead of winter had that effect on people. Jon had even caught a few men bowing low to Ghost out of respect once (or perhaps it had been fear), much to his amusement.

Jon felt colder than before, if that was even possible. He supposed it wasn’t just the ice towering above him that made him feel that way, but the loneliness that pierced through his furs surer than any biting wind. Everyone at the Wall refused to meet his eyes nowadays, for fear of showing disrespect or perhaps of wariness of whatever power had brought him back to life. Even Satin would determinedly stare at his shoes whenever he brought meals to Jon’s solar. Of course, “everyone” naturally didn’t include the king, and when Stannis’ eyes met his they didn’t have the love and friendship that Jon so desperately craved. Still, though, he would take derision, disapproval, impatience, and grudging respect any day over another pair of haunting blue eyes he prayed never to see again.

Stannis, it seemed, wasn’t as impervious to the cold as he led his men to think. He had taken to inviting Jon to his solar in the evenings for supper and to accepting Jon’s invitations to do the same. More often than not he indulged in hot mulled wine—not that it made him any more agreeable to talk to. The two of them would still scoff at and argue with each other, but there was always good reason and logic behind their biting and bitter words.

_Perhaps Stannis realizes how cold loneliness is as well. And it’s not like he sees his queen more than he did when she was at Eastwatch_ , mused Jon, and he smiled inwardly whenever the young Seaworth boy would inform him that His Grace requested the Lord Commander to dine with him that evening.

~

Tonight was one of those evenings. After Jon and Stannis had finished eating and had exhausted all the things that the Lord Commander and the king wished to discuss, they would sit by the fire and exchange the occasional word, or perhaps stand by the windowsill together and watch the Wall in silence.

They were at the windowsill now, and without warning Stannis decided to break their usual silence.

“That scar on your face, how did you get it? Did…did your wolf scratch you?” Stannis’ voice was tentative, as it always was when he talked to Jon about matters that weren’t the domain of the Lord Commander and the king, as if he didn’t have much practice in talking about personal matters with others.

Jon glanced over at Ghost, who was seemingly sleeping by the fireplace. Stannis had stopped banning Ghost from his rooms ever since he had returned to the Wall, claiming that the wolf was a calming presence—not that Jon had ever seen him calm. _Perhaps he is when he doesn’t grind his teeth._

“Ghost would never…No. It was an eagle, an eagle who’s owner didn’t care for me.”

“And why was that?”

“Because I killed him.”

The silence returned, for a moment.

“Would you mind telling me the reason why, Lord Snow?”

“Orell was a wildling with a horn hiding in the Frostfangs. He would have betrayed the position of my black brothers and I, and…he was the first man I ever killed.”

“I was a few years older than you when I killed my first man, but at least the Targaryen soldier on Dragonstone wasn’t in possession of a live dragon.”

Jon looked at him.

To Jon’s surprise, Stannis reached out a hand and lightly traced the scar that ran from Jon’s temple, over his nose, and down one of his cheeks. Jon momentarily forgot how to properly breathe.

He grabbed Stannis’ hand and kept it in place at his cheek, before raising his eyes to the king’s. Jon hadn’t realized how close they were until they stared at each other. He could detect guilt and mild panic in Stannis’ gaze, but the king wasn’t moving away. Jon also hadn’t realized how _warm_ Stannis was, either, and he knew that he wasn’t ready to give that up, not for quite some time.

“Let me stay,” Jon said in a low voice, not breaking eye contact.

There was silence.

“You have no idea what you’re asking.”

“What do you take me for, a boy who blushes when a comely girl looks his way?”

More silence followed.

“No, I take you for the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. But you’re still a boy in many ways.”

Jon wanted to shout back, “I killed the boy! I killed him, haven’t I proven that to you yet?” But he never got a chance to, for when he opened his mouth, Stannis grabbed his face with his two hands and tilted it upwards before roughly kissing him, forcing Jon to swallow his retort.

~

Later that night, when Jon was lying exhausted and spent next to Stannis on the king’s bed, he noticed a white scar on the man’s left shoulder. The scar was too jagged and wide to be caused by a knife or a sword, and it looked almost as if something had tried to bite him.

Mimicking Stannis’ touches earlier in the evening (for most all subsequent touches had been hard and desperate enough to leave bruises), Jon lightly traced the scar. When he could feel Stannis’ eyes on him, he asked:

“Where was this scar from?”

“A hawk. Its owner didn’t care for me either, much like your eagle.” His voice was sad, a tone that Jon had heard him use only once before, when he had lamented not keeping his Hand at his side.

“Did you kill the owner as well?”

“No, as much as I was sometimes tempted to. I would have taken his love instead.” Stannis let out a long sigh. “When I was a boy, I nursed an injured goshawk hack to health. The bird, Proudwing, became so fond of me that she would sit on my shoulder and fly after me around Storm’s End—but never properly hawk. Robert had a gyrfalcon that was as vicious and as deadly as they came. On day, when Poudwing was sitting on my shoulder, Thunderclap dived from out of nowhere in an attempted attack on my bird. I can still sometimes feel that damnable hawk’s talons and beak digging into my shoulder.”

Jon was slightly horrified at the tale. It was akin to if Grey Wind had tried to attack Ghost, thinking nothing of having to tear though Jon to get to the other wolf.

“Did your brother train his hawk to do that?” asked Jon, dreading the answer.

“No, I don’t believe he did. Robert would never physically harm his brothers in such a way, no matter what else he may have felt about them. But I do recall him laughing when I told him what his hawk had done, which was nearly as cruel as if he _had_ ordered the attack. ‘Weakwing must have seemed like prey,’ he replied.”

_Robb would never have said something like that to me._ But there was no point in saying that, for he doubted Stannis would understand how close and how much love there had always been between him and Robb. He squeezed Stannis’ shoulder, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

With that, Stannis threw his furs over the both of them, pulling Jon toward him so their bodies were flush against each other once more. Jon could feel warm breath on the back of his neck, which sent a jolt up his spine.

It was odd, he thought, that Stannis hadn’t ordered him out of his chambers yet, like he usually did when the fire had been reduced to embers and Jon had started to yawn.

_It must be the cold. It’s because of the cold that Stannis hasn’t demanded me to leave._

But that was okay. Jon didn’t have any intention of leaving, anyway.


End file.
